True Poison is Paper and Ink
by dearestpersephone
Summary: Traitors Collection: Part One / Ginny Weasley missed Tom Riddle. And she'd be damned if she never saw him again. (On-Sided GW/TR)
_**True Poison is Paper and Ink**_

 _Dark!Ginny Weasley_

 _Words: 1044_

 _Traitors Part I_

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Once you've been touched, darkness never really leaves you. And oh, how she'd been touched by the devil himself, his soul wrapped around hers, draining her very life force. She had been possessed by evil incarnate for nearly a year, and all the magic in the world could never erase the black spot that not marred her soul. Not that she wanted it gone.

Once you've tasted darkness, a craving for it developes. The power of it, the energy that propels you onwards as you commit sin after sin, as your smile as the blood runs. She missed the darkness that had taken her prisoner, that had given her her first tastes of true power.

Ginny Weasley missed Tom Riddle. It wasn't, of course, simply based on the fact that the boy she had met through the diary was frighteningly handsome or had a way with words that would put every poet to shame. She missed the power and the energy of his soul, the weightless feeling of not caring about what was going to happen to anybody.

It was sociopathic, _psychopathic_ even. And yet, Ginny found herself uncaring about that fact as well. He was charismatic, he was the kind of person who made you crave their approval, the master of effortless manipulations. He had, by all rights, ruined her first year of Hogwarts, had scarred her for life. She should never ever want to have to interact with him again.

God, how she missed him. She couldn't tell anybody, of course. They'd all call her crazy and ship her off to St. Mungo's in a second. There was no way to reach him from St. Mungo's. Ginny wouldn't be trapped like _she_ was. Ginny was stronger, could hold herself together as the desire to _fuck everything, go to Him_ raged inside her, tearing her apart.

There was nothing stopping her from going, really. She knew _they_ would go with her, well, really, she would go with _them_. They'd all lost their minds to the touch of darkness, the sweet caress of evil.

Power was _addicting_. She could see why politicians went corrupt, why people murdered and connived for the chance to be above someone else. Ginny knew that she was mentally off kilter a little bit, but Lord, Oh Lord, she loved every second of it. The frozen shell of her heart and the empty space where her conscious used to live.

She was more ambitious than people gave her credit for. Youngest, and only, daughter gave her the drive to upstage all six of her brothers in the future. She made a note in her mind to make sure she got to destroy the worst one before _they_ did. She knew, of course, that _He_ would give him as a prize to his protegees, that Ginny would never get her chance to show him just how powerless she really was.

Her mother had read Muggle Greek Myths to her as a child, and from 5 years old Ginevra Weasley was fixated on the story of Hades and Persephone.

 _He stole her_ , they said. _Hades stole Persephone from her mother._ But he hadn't, not really, had he? He saw her, fell in love with her, and offered her half his realm. He offered her power and freedom and everything she didn't have with Demeter. People think women are so naïve. Oh no, they see what they want and the world be damned in their quest to reach it.

Ginny Weasley fancied herself a Persephone. Trapped under the will of a mother, kept from freedom and the magic that made her heart race. Though, in reality, she knew _they_ were the true Hades and Persephone, and she was nothing more than a knockoff. A knockoff, but one that would do anything to reach her goal and her god.

She knew, of course, that she was only a lackey to the real Hades and Persephone, that even if _they_ claimed that their little sub-group was equal in power, she would never have the kind of power and control they wielded. She couldn't really bring herself to care, though. She was infinitely better than the rest, and very few could ever be as powerful as _they_ were. After all, _they_ were to rule if _He_ could not. And Ginny knew they would rule with cold hearts and iron fists and Sweet Merlin, how she longed to stand with them when they took their thrones.

She thought about the Sorting Ceremony when she was eleven, a too-big wool hat hanging over her head, whispering _Slytherin_ in her ear as she prayed as hard as she prayed as hard as she could for Gryffindor.

She remembered the table of red and gold clapping because _Oh, look, the last Weasley_. She remembered looking at the table of green and silver out of the corner of her eye, wondering what it would have been like to sit with them, to wear their colors.

Ginny had watched them almost obsessively, and the spirit of Tom Riddle hadn't helped her regret over her house, no, he only fueled it. Tales of the common room and the stewing pot of power that churned within the House. He told her of the Notts and the Malfoys and the Blacks and their power and their magic. She, between every story, ever line of written word, hated her weasel blood even more.

They were _purebloods_ living like scum, struggling to make ends meet over 7 children. She would have been hated in Slytherin, child of blood traitors, but she would have been the one to bring glory to her family, to make the line Noble once more. It was left to her to make the Weasleys great, and she could not do it without _Him,_ without _them_.

It was too late now, of course. She had wasted seven years of her life in a House she chose out of fear. She would never let fear control her again.

Ginevra Molly Weasley made her choice. She would not let her fear keep her from _Him. They_ would surely take her with them, and if they didn't she was following them.

She would never be a prisoner to her own emotions for as long as she lived.

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 _Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything from the Harry Potter Universe._


End file.
